


I'd Rather Hurt than let you Down

by Zoejoy24



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [8]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Happy Ending, M/M, Malcolm Bright Whump, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:00:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23546518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoejoy24/pseuds/Zoejoy24
Summary: Malcolm leans against the bar, tight pants showing off his ass, tight shirt just short enough to show off a strip of skin when he moves.This may not be the best idea he’s ever had—catching a predatory rapist by offering himself up as prey.  But he’d rather be the next potential victim than some unsuspecting college kid.A man sidles up to him, gives him an obvious once over and smirks.  “Hey hottie, how bout another?  My treat.”Malcolm smiles up at their suspect flirtatiously, takes the certainly drugged drink, and hopes to god the team has his back.Written for the Non-Consensual Touching square on my BTHB card.
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1610707
Comments: 21
Kudos: 160
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	I'd Rather Hurt than let you Down

**Author's Note:**

> This is an expanded version of a drabble I wrote a few days ago that I thought would work well for my Bingo Card.
> 
> I'd like to say a big 'thank you' to [TheCosmicMushroom](http://archiveofourown.com/users/TheCosmicMushroom) for betaing this so quickly and thoroughly and for being an awesome cheerleader all the time.

Malcolm isn’t used to waiting in lines at clubs. 

For one thing, he rarely goes clubbing, it’s really not his scene. For another, when he does go out, the bouncers usually take one look at his Armani suit and handful of cash and let him right in. 

But this is for a case, and tonight he’s not Malcolm Bright. He’s just Mal, a punk kid looking to blow off some steam and mix it up with the wrong crowd, and maybe get into some trouble.

It’s what their suspect looks for. Pretty, vulnerable young men who they can drug, drag home, abuse, and rape. He’s sadistic and insatiable; three victims last weekend, another victim the night before. And Malcolm’s hoping to become his next target.

It may not be the best idea he’s ever had—catching a predatory rapist by offering himself up as prey. But he’d rather be the next potential victim than some unsuspecting college kid. 

It takes 20 minutes for him to get inside. He’s on his phone while he waits, like nearly everyone else in line, keeping Gil updated.

Gil was not happy with the plan, at all. There is a lot of potential for it to go wrong, Malcolm will admit. But he’d rather it go wrong and still catch the guy than to not try at all and let him go free for another weekend. Gil had insisted he wear an actual tracker and not just use his phone, in case he lost it. The tracker is tucked into the waistband of his boxer briefs. By the time those start coming off, it will be past time for the team to arrive, so there’s no reason to think they won’t be able to find him wherever he ends up later in the evening.

He shoots off one final text as he nears the front of the line, shoving his phone in his pocket and pulling out his wallet to get his ID ready and cash for the cover charge. Then, he’s inside.

He’d made an educated guess on which club their suspect would most likely start his evening at, based on his patterns from the previous weekend. He’d made a lot of educated guesses for this one, but he was confident in all of them.

He goes straight to the bar and orders a drink. He finishes it quickly and orders another, then heads to the dance floor. For this to work he needs to put himself out there, draw attention to himself and what kind of a good time he’s looking for. He dances for a while, finishes his second drink, and heads back to the bar.

Once he manages to find a place to stand, Malcolm leans against the bar, tight pants showing off his ass, his shirt a size too small and just short enough to show off a strip of skin when he moves. He knows how he looks—ridiculous, to be honest, but  _ good _ . He’s fit, the jeans make his ass look great. He’s begging for attention in any and every way he can. And he fits right in. 

A man sidles up to him, gives him an obvious once over and smirks. “Hey, hottie, how bout another drink? My treat.”

Malcolm smiles back, looking up at him from underneath his eyelashes, coy and tempting. The man matches the description of their suspect, and Malcolm turns up the charm.

“That’d be great,” he says, looking the man over once himself, pausing dramatically when his eyes settle on his crotch. There’s not much to see there, but his look is suggestive when he meets the man’s eyes once more anyways. 

The man hands him another drink, and Malcolm has no doubt that it’s drugged. “And who do I have to thank for the free booze?” he asks.

“You can call me Stephen, sweetheart. And what do I call you?”

“Mal,” he answers with a sweet smile.

“Cheers, Mal,” the man—definitely not a Stephen—says before taking a sip of his own drink.

Malcolm smiles even wider, clinks his glass against Stephen’s and drinks eagerly, hoping desperately that the team has his back.

It doesn’t take long for Stephen to get handsy, to start whispering filth into Malcolm’s ear. Malcolm hasn’t even finished the drink yet when he steps into his personal space and rests a hand on his hip, fingers slipping up underneath his shirt to run against his bare skin. 

“You’re real pretty, baby. Can’t wait to take you home, see what you’re hiding underneath these clothes. Not that you’re hiding much, little slut. Shaking your ass in those jeans.”

A shiver runs through Malcolm at the touch and the whisper of breath on the shell of his ear, but he pushes down on the fear that’s building in his chest as he starts to recognize the effects of the drug. 

He steps back out of Stephen’s reach, mumbling what he hopes is a ‘no,’ and runs into someone behind him. It’s disorienting; he turns to apologize but the quick movement makes his head spin and he sways, grabbing hold of the bar to steady himself as his vision begins to swim. His mind screams at him to fight the drug’s effects, but he ignores that, too, lets the wave of dizziness wash over him, submitting to the mindless euphoria that begins to set in.

Stephen slings an arm over his shoulder and pulls him in to lean against him. He’s saying something—an apology or an excuse, Malcolm can’t quite tell. He loses track of time, of himself, but he tries to say no, to push away from Stephen’s hold, at least he thinks he does. He has to make sure Stephen knows he doesn’t want this. He regains a measure of awareness when he realizes Stephen is walking him towards the exit, and real terror starts to overtake him, then. He tries to step away, to duck out from under Stephen’s arm, but the motion nearly sends him sprawling to the ground.

Stephen just laughs it off. Through blurred vision, Malcolm can see a few concerned faces watching as Stephen grabs him by the bicep and holds him upright once more. He wraps his hand around Malcolm’s hip this time, possessive and smooth, like he’s done it a hundred times. Malcolm tries to push him off, but then he’s leaning against Stephen and the world doesn’t feel like it's spinning anymore. Despite his best intentions, he finds himself settling against the solid mass of the other man’s body, letting Stephen support him as they walk out into the parking lot. 

It’s a blur from there. Stephen puts him in the back of a car, follows in after him. Malcolm can feel his heart rate increasing as they pull away from the club, as Stephen starts to run his hands along his thighs and chest. He leans in for a kiss, and it’s controlling, almost vicious. He pinches Malcolm’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and grips tightly, forcing his head where he wants it to go.

Malcolm is dimly aware of everything that’s happening to him, but at the same time, he’s detached and unable to react in any way. Stephen slides a hand along his lower belly, dipping his fingers into his waistband, slipping just low enough that Malcolm's cock begins to twitch in interest and he moans softly, not in pleasure but in fear, though it sounds the same.

"I knew you'd be into this, whore," Stephen says with a dark chuckle, running his fingers back and forth across his skin.

“‘M not, ge’off,” Malcolm mumbles incoherently.

He tries to move away from Stephen’s touch but it only makes things worse as his uncoordinated shifting brings the other man’ hand closer to where he's growing steadily harder in his pants.

"Hey, save it for when you get home," the driver yells from the front seat.

Malcolm moans again, shaking his head, but Stephen pulls him into another kiss, cutting off his protests.

They arrive at their destination and Stephen pulls him out of the car, leaves him leaning against the side as he ducks back in to tip their driver. Malcolm pushes himself up weakly, tries to walk away, though he has no idea where he is or where he's trying to go. Just… away. Away from Stephen and his wandering hands and what's coming next. 

The details are fuzzy, but somewhere in the back of his mind there's a strong impression that Stephen is going to hurt him. He can't remember how or why… and he knows that help is coming, but he's still afraid of what could happen before they arrive.

He stumbles, nearly falling as soon as he’s away from the support the car provides. Stephen is there in an instant, hauling him up roughly and pulling him along till they reach a door. He pushes him up against the wall next to it, holding him in place with a hand fisted in his collar. The door swings open and Stephen pushes him inside then slams him back against the door once it’s closed, hard enough that Malcolm sees stars when the back of his skull thuds against the solid wood.

Stephen grinds up against, slotting his legs between Malcolm’s, and Malcolm can feel that he’s hard where he’s rubbing against his upper thigh. Stephen kisses him roughly, forcing his tongue inside his mouth, biting down hard on his lower lip. He kisses and nips his way down the column of Malcolm’s throat then sinks his teeth viciously into the muscle of his shoulder. Malcolm cries out, his whole body tensing as the pain shoots through him. He pushes weakly against Stephen’s shoulders, pulls at his hair with one hand to dislodge him, but it only makes the man angry. 

He steps back and slaps Malcolm hard across the face, sending him sprawling to the floor with a cry of pain. Stephen squats down beside him and looks him over with a leer.

“You’re really into this, aren’t you, pretty boy?” he sneers, pressing against Malcolm’s crotch where his cock is hard and straining against the tight pants. 

He can’t help it, the light teasing touches from when they’d been in the car combined with the friction from when Stephen had been rubbing against him at the door had felt good, and his physical body and his logical mind are not communicating well at the moment. Malcolm groans when Stephen increases the pressure and cups him through his pants. 

“Can’t wait to get these clothes off of you and really have some fun. Gonna mark you up real good, make you even more pretty for me before I fuck you. Can’t wait to get my hands on that ass of yours. You look so good in those jeans.”

Malcolm shifts, trying to roll away from Stephen’s touch, from his gaze but the other man stops him easily.

“Let’s get a better look, shall we?” he continues, deftly undoing Malcolm’s button and fly and shoving his hand down his pants, inside his underwear. He squeezes Malcolm hard, drawing another cry of pain from Malcolm. His pain only increases Stephen’s pleasure, his eyes sparking with a sick glee as he jerks Malcolm roughly and presses his thumbnail against his sensitive head. “Ah, fuck baby. You’re so hard for me, aren’t you? You sound so good. I’m going to have so much fun with you.”

Finally, Stephen releases him and stands once more. He bends down and grabs a fistful of Malcolm’s hair, pulling him roughly to his knees, drawing more pained little noises from Malcolm’s lips.

“Time to put that pretty mouth of yours to work,” Stephen murmurs, freeing his own cock from his pants and positioning himself in front of Malcolm.

“Fuck you,” Malcolm somehow manages to spit out, meeting Stephen’s eyes defiantly from where he’s kneeling in front of the man.

The blow comes faster than Malcolm can track, another slap sending him to the floor once more and splitting his lip open. In an instant Stephen has a hand in his hair once more, pulling him up and holding him in place as he rubs the head of his cock against Malcolm’s lips, smearing the blood from his split lip across his mouth.

“Reds a good color on you. Knew it would be. Now listen carefully, Mal. You're going to suck me off like the good little slut you are. If you bite, or try to fight it, I’m going to beat you to death and fuck you as you die. Understand?” Stephen says, his voice deadly serious. 

Malcolm nods, terror coursing through him, causing him to shake. Stephen tilts his head back, presses the head of his cock against Malcolm’s lips once more.

And the door slams open, his team rushes in, screaming at Stephen to put his hands up and step away. Stephen complies, already insisting that what they’re doing is consensual, but no one is listening to him. The sudden flurry of commotion and the heady rush of relief at their arrival makes Malcolm’s head spin and he tips, nearly falling over and just barely managing to catch himself with one hand. He shuts his eyes tight, waiting for the dizzy spell to pass.

“Bright? Hey, kid, you with us?” someone asks and Malcolm opens his eyes to see Gil’s worried face in front of his own. He has to blink several times to be able to focus properly on him, but he does manage to nod.

“I’m okay. I’m alright,” he mutters.

Gil brushes his thumb against Malcolm’s cheek and along his lip where the marks from Stephen’s blows are surely evident. 

“Just a smack,” Malcolm mumbles. “I’m okay.”

Gil helps him to his feet slowly, gently, looking him over for any other signs of injury, his expression twisting into a look of disgust and fury when he sees that Malcolm’s pants are undone. Malcolm fumbles with the fly and it’s so much harder than it should be but he gets them done up again.

“Malcolm,” Gil starts, but then Malcolm is pitching forward and Gil catches him, holding him upright.

“Just tired. Wanna go home,” Malcolm begs.

Gil sighs, rubbing his shoulder gently, tenderly. “Not quite yet, kid. CSU needs to take some pictures and draw some blood. I’ll drive you home as soon as they’re done, okay, City Boy?”

Malcolm nods sleepily, leaning into Gil’s gentle embrace.

“Did we get him?” he asks a moment later. “Did I do good?”

“Yeah, kid. You did great. You did great,” Gil assures him, rubbing his back with soft, gentle hands and holding him tight.

Malcolm lets his eyes slip close, a small smile turning the corners of his lips up as he sinks into the safety of Gil’s arms.

He knew his team would have his back. They always do.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! If you are enjoying this fic, love Prodigal Son, and are 18+, I'd love for you to come hang out on the brand new [Discord Server](https://discord.gg/6ytNM9jDBf) that SomeRainMustFall and I started! It is open to all ship-positive, kink-positive people who are looking for a space to chat, get to know, and enjoy the show with other fans in a safe and positive environment!


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